The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1887-03-24
The Tramp's Sacrifice.

The Tramp's Sacrifice.
Nea, sunset Of an evening. of the las,
July. Wellington Seymour stood by hi.
front gate resting himself after hard
days labor in the harvest-tield, by
watching the people who passed on the
road They all bowed or spoke to him;
no man in the town was moro highly
respected OF better known: He was its
Supervisor; and a deacon of the Church
over tho bill; he owned an hundred
acres Of valuable land, which he work
ed himself, and the pretty frame house
Just behind him. His wife was at this
time sitting on the piazza, and their
only child, Winnie. was racing up and
down it, somewhat boisterous with the
high spirits of childhood. The family
and the help had eaten supper. and
all were enjoying in their own way the
beautiful summer hour between sunset
and darkness.
Wellington Seymour was forty six
years old. His hands were hard with
toll; for, though rich and prosperous,
be was one of those who deem manual
labor divinely imposed duty. He was
bronzed and sunburncd with exposure;
and the trials and duties of life, as we'll
as its sorrows, had given a grave and
thoughtful aspect to his face. An OBJ.
server would have added ten years to
his real age. The few people in sucl,
q rural neghborhood as this who were
accustomed to study character by the
features had seen that there was some.
thing more than gravity in Mr.. Sey-
mour's face. There was restlessness
about his eye. Sometimes he started
upon hearing ON unfamiliar voice.
While the fact had not become SUBJ
ject OF remark. it had certainly been
noticed by these few that Mr.. Seymour
did not often appear to be at ease.
As he continued to stand at his gate,
imam passed by on foot who neither
bowed nor spoke to him. He was q
stranger. clothed in tattered and dusty
garments. He walked slowly past,
using long staff and appearing very
much fatigued. His hair and beard
were long and unkempt; his face bore
the unmistakable marks of dissipation
and excess. He was, in short, a tramp;
one of a class which Mr.. Seymour
hated-or would have hated had his
christian principles allowed such feel
ing. He looked coldly at the man as
he went by, merely observing that he
was tramp. without taking particular
note of his face. He did not see that
the man stared hard at him, after he
had turned his eyes from the unpleas-
ant object. The man walked a rod
past the gate, and then suddenly wheel
cd and came back. He stood right in
front of the farmer and leaned heavily
on his staff:
Sir" he said, Il am very tired and
very hungry. Will you feed me and
lodge me to-night?'
''You look like tramp" the farmer
replied. "You know the penalties you
are liable to suffer-"
Eyes. KNOW" the wayfarer cried.
His dark eyes snapped viciously, and
there was a ring to his voice that start
led Mr.. Seymour. Il am an outcast,
an 1shmaelite-not because am vi
cious, but because l am vicious and
poor. The law makes it an offense to
be poor, if you are bad. Perhaps it is
right; but am too much exhausted
now even to talk about such things. I
appeal to you as a man to help fel-
bowman in distress. Twenty-Five miles
have walked to-day; nothing have 1
eaten since noon. have been refused
relief at half dozen farm houses, and
whipped off from wagons where tried
to get rest for my poor bruised feet
Welfare you heartless, too?''
Those piercing black eyes were fixed
on the farmers face, with an expires.
sion that haunts him to this day. A
very brief struggle in his breast ended
by his throwing open the gate.
Come in, poor fellow" he said.
Ill take care of you t II Tomorrow
The tramp entered. A few words
from the farmer to his wife explained
the matter to her. and she went to the
kitchen to provide something for the
poof waif to eat The man went to
the pump. washed himself, brushed off
the dust, and then went into the kitch-
en- and sat down to the table. The
meal that he ate may have it's parel-
lei among those of his kind; the Sey-
mour homestead had certainly never
witnessed such consumption of provis-
ions by one person. While he was cat
ing, little Winnie came into the kitch-
en-, and, with the confidence that is
natural with some children. went up to
him and laid her hand on his arm. He
looked at her kindly.
''What is your name, little one?" he
asked.
''Winifred. They call me Winnie,
for Short
He wiped his mouth and, most un-
romantic in this connection, but GER
tainly true, there was tear in his eve,
which he dashed away with the back
of his hand. OF what could he be think
ing? Perhaps, of his own youthful
days of innocence; perhaps. of words
read long ago. but lately forgotten
''for of such is the kingdom of heav-
en-"
''Would you kiss me, Winnie?''
She looked up into his face, bearded
face, and found very tender express
sion in his eyes. and she kissed him
without hesitation.
The mothers heart was also soften
ed by this little episode; so when the
man had finished his meal, she said to